


Drowning With You

by springbok7



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: #TeamRasa, 007 Fest, 007 Fest Fancreations, 007 games, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood Magic, Established Relationship, Horror, Loss of Identity, M/M, Mental Coercion, Merpeople, Mind Altering Magic, No Major Character Death, Sad Ending, Team Q-branch, Unhappy Ending, Unwanted Transformation, Unwanted Use of Magic, non consensual mind control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-23 17:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11406942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springbok7/pseuds/springbok7
Summary: When Q and James go on holiday to a little village on Lanzarote, things don't go as smoothly as they'd planned.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tsuyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsuyu/gifts), [Boffin1710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/gifts), [AsheTarasovich (natalieashe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/gifts).



> Dedicated to [Tsuyu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsuyu), without whom this would not have happened. It's all your fault! (Though perhaps the migraine meds did not help HAHAHA!)
> 
> This also would not have been possible without the amazing [Dassandre](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre). She knew this was a [#TeamRasa](http://archiveofourown.org/tags/*h*TeamRasa/works) fic, and even though life has been a brat to her lately and she can use all the fluffy and tooth-rotting sweetness there is, she agreed to beta anyway. Thank you, darling, you rock!
> 
> And for the rest of [#TeamRasa](http://archiveofourown.org/tags/*h*TeamRasa/works), hope you like it! <3
> 
> All remaining typos and oddities are mine. If you spot any errors and/or feel there should be additional tags, please do let me know. I welcome constructive criticism, but neither support or feed trolls.
> 
> _Unfortunately for me, I do not own these characters. No infringement of copyright is intended and no profit is being made from this piece of fan-fiction._

It had been a lovely day.  Bright sun radiant in a cornflower sky, reflecting the turquoise expanse of the ocean. Q and James had been on holiday for all of two days and had another glorious twelve ahead of them before they must begin the trek back to Britain, MI6, and home.

Planning this trip had been James' secret project with Tanner and Moneypenny. Q hadn't taken a holiday in months, nearly a year really, and they were all in agreement that it was high time that he was removed from MI6 for some downtime, even if that meant being dragged kicking and screaming away from his beloved tech.

Finally, after a solid week of unrelenting pressure from all three, Q had succumbed. James had smirked. Eve and Bill had shared eye rolls so epic that it was a miracle nothing had been strained. What the three didn't know was that R had quietly told her boss that if he didn't "bloody well get on out," she was going to program all his screensavers to display POV videos of hang-gliding, paragliding, takeoffs and landings of micro-planes, and last, but certainly not least, bungee jumping.

Q had finally admitted defeat and agreed to go, leaving his branch in R's capable hands, along with six contact numbers, "just in case." He'd also muttered repeatedly during his packing that he would be shocked if nothing blew up or melted down in the 21 days they were planning to be away from Q-branch. James had responded, completely straight-faced, that nothing would blow up since  _ he _ would be with  _ Q _ , and weren't the two of them responsible for 98.3% of all Q-branch explosions, anyway? Q had turned to look at him, the little line forming between his brows that always appeared when he was calculating statistics, before he caught sight of the glint in James' eye and promptly threw three pairs of socks and a beach towel at him.

The journey to Arrecife had been an adventure in and of itself. Respecting Q's aversion to flying, they had kept to non-aerial modes of transportation. They'd taken the Eurostar from St. Pancras to Paris and the Metro from Gare du Nord to Gare Montparnasse; a short walk to stretch their legs saw them to Paris-Montparnasses and the train for Irún. From there, they'd taken a sleeper to Edificio in Valencia where they'd transferred trains, again, for the shorter trip to Córdoba and from there to Huelva. It had taken them over a day by train and bus, and then they switched to ferry, making the 34-hour voyage to Las Palmas de Gran Canaria. Another ten-hour ferry ride saw them finally reach their destination on the little island of Lanzarote. It had taken over three days to see them settled into the little white house James had found for them, down near the harbour of Costa Teguise.

Once there, James had immediately made arrangements to hire a little sailboat for the next fortnight, and then the two had collapsed into their first real bed, and their first proper rest, since leaving MI6.

Bright and early the next morning, and far more chipper than should have been legal for the hour, James rousted Q from his nest of sheets and sat him down on the veranda, a light breakfast of fruit and cool but tangy tea laid out for their enjoyment.

As soon as the meal had been polished off, he'd dragged Q down to the quay and given him a rundown of the little five-metre vessel, showing him how to step the mast, rig the sail, man the tiller, and the various bits and pieces of nautical detail that would allow them to work as a team. They hadn't worn the life jackets that came with the hire, as they'd kept to the sheltered bay, just letting Q get used to handling the boat, as well as acquire some semblance of sea-legs. 

James had gone aboard while Q was still asleep, stowing away a hamper of breads and cheeses and other light eatables in the bow, so they'd been able to stay out on the water until early evening and enjoy the sunset there as well.

Pleasantly exhausted, they had tumbled into bed not long after that sunset, wrapped around each other like octopi. They'd already made plans to take the little boat out into the Atlantic for Q's maiden voyage; James had even arranged for another hamper of goodies to be ready for them to pick up in the morning from the elderly woman who catered to the village fishermen casting off in the predawn chill.

With the quantity of food and drink she seemed to deem acceptable, they would be able to spend all day out on the water again. Neither could wait, and Q had been looking forward to this part of their holiday ever since James suggested it. Well, once Q had finally agreed to actually  _ take _ the holiday.

The day had started much the same as the first: James chivvying Q out of bed and through an abbreviated version of his usual morning routine. The pair had then ambled down the dusty street to the harbour to collect their hamper from the woman -- who'd winked and shooed them off, laughing heartily, when James flirted shamelessly with her -- and wave back at her cheerily as they'd disappeared around the corner.

It had been the work of mere minutes to stow their grub and cast off.

It was indeed a lovely day. Is a lovely day, not a cloud in sight.

The wave that swamps the tiny sailboat comes out of nowhere. Experienced as he is on the water, it takes even James by surprise as it tosses the light craft onto its side and flings both him and Q into the water.

As he kicks back to the surface and shakes the water from his hair, James immediately starts to look around frantically for Q.

He'd seen the boom swinging round a fraction of a second before the wave hit, and now he can't recall if the solid wood struck Q or not. It all happened so fast, even his Double O training had been useless.

There! He sees a glint of pale skin on the other side of the capsized boat that is still bobbing like a cork on the waves.

He sucks in a breath and then swims through the choppy sea, swinging wide around the boat to avoid getting himself entangled in rope or debris. When he reaches the other side, however, he sees nothing but the lifting and lowering surface of the sea.

He swims in a wider circle, thinking that perhaps Q is also trying to avoid the boat, but he finds no sign of him. Taking a deep breath, James dives back under the waves and carefully approaches the hull, wondering if perhaps Q is still trapped beneath it. There is no sign of him. A length of forlorn rope and the abandoned oars are still attached to the hull, the detached mast kept floating near the rest by the network of rigging fastening the sail to it and the boat. But no Q.

He swims away and takes another deep breath, diving as deep as he can to look, searching the cool blue depths as best he can for his lover. He swims until his lungs burn, until there are spots sparkling in front of his eyes, then back to the surface he kicks, gasping in lungfuls of precious oxygen as his head breaks the surface.

He dives again… and again… and again… but finds only blue waves above and silence below.

He wants to scream. This  _ can't _ be happening. Not like  _ this _ . Not  _ again _ ! It's Vesper all over again, some horrid  _ Groundhog Day _ loop, some curse placed on him that costs him anyone he loves. 

Vesper, drowned before his eyes, powerless to save her. 

M dying in his arms, drowned in her own blood that burbled between her lips from the lung punctured by Silva's bullet. 

And now Q. 

All because he'd wanted to show Q the water, show Q how much _bloody fun_ sailing could be. So arrogantly confident in his own abilities that he hadn't even bothered to insist on wearing the life jackets still stowed in the bow, wanting instead to be able to touch Q without the bulky material getting in the way. He should have _known_ better. It was all _his_ _fault_. _All_ of it. How _could_ he have been so _stupid_? So _careless_? He _should_ have...

Finally, exhausted physically and mentally, he stops diving and just hangs on the surface, floating on his back, staring up at the uncaring blue dome overhead. It's been minutes … hours … lifetimes … he doesn't know. But he does know, beyond a doubt, that even if he did find Q, it would be too late. The younger man would be already dead. He knows this like he knows his Walther, in his bones, in the depths of his soul, and the pain is so great he cannot scream, cannot move, cannot even breath, as it crashes over him. His face is already wet with saltwater, so the tears blend in and are as invisible as he is out in the middle of nowhere, floating on the waves, waiting for the pain to end, for his body to sink down and join his lover, his best friend, his partner, somewhere in the dark depths below. 

He closes his eyes, and rests, floating suspended between air and water, waiting for his final release, nothing but pain in his heart.

~~~ OOQ ~~~

As James floats in the water, waiting for it to swallow him down and end his agony, he feels an icy touch scrape his ankle.

Jerking his leg in surprise, he isn't able to dislodge the touch, the sensation of ice-cold sandpaper startling in its strangeness. He opens his eyes and looks down to see a ghostly white face looking back at him from beneath the waves. He freezes in shock as he stares, his brain refusing to make sense of the sight.

The creature looks humanoid from the waist up, but with a long and powerful tail extending out behind it. Before James can register further detail, the creature tugs sharply on his ankle, drawing him beneath the waves, and suddenly James can see the creature in its entirety.

The tail is the dark grey of an otter's fur, but no fur grows there. The androgynous torso is the pale grey of a shark's skin, the smooth surface broken only by long slits along its ribs that flare and pulse as its gills do their work. Its eyes are flat and such a light grey as to be nearly colourless, gazing at him emotionlessly. The creature's head is a glimmering curve of skin in the water with no hint of hair or ears or other growths interrupting the glossy expanse. Its bloodless lips part, and James tries to pull back and fails, again. Row upon row of razor-sharp teeth gleam in the refracted light.

As he struggles against its grip, the creature turns from him, and with a flip of its tail, begins to descend into the depths, dragging James along, utterly ignoring his continuously futile attempts to gain his freedom from the webbed hand circling his limb.

The light grows dimmer, and he feels himself panicking at the lack of oxygen -- the instinctive response to imminent death -- and he opens his mouth to scream, unconsciously inhaling... and as the water rushes in, he discovers something else... he can breathe!

Freezing in horror as his brain catches up with his circumstance, he does nothing as the creature tows him behind it, deeper and deeper, until the surface and the sky are so far above them as to be nothing but a distant glimmer of memory. He hangs limply from the creature’s hand as it swims, the fight gone from his flesh, a subtle lassitude filling his limbs as horror chills his soul. The only sound he can hear is the rapid staccato beating of his heart through the blood pulsing in his ears.

Finally, after what seems like hours but might have been mere minutes -- James hasn't been paying attention -- they reach a series of rocky outcroppings on the seafloor, protrusions reaching up into the icy darkness like mounds of bones.

Dragged between the protrusions as the sea creature swims, James is mildly surprised to see what look like gardens of kelp, seaweed, and corals ranged around the base of each protrusion. He sees dark openings part-way up each of the rocky faces out of which colourful fish dart every so often. He does not think to question how it is that he can see these things.

Finally! Finally, the creature slows and begins to descend towards one of the openings. Some part of James is insisting that he fight, that he struggle against it. That same part of him recognises that he is in shock, but the rest of him is too tired, too cold, too numb, to move. To even care. Reasons it might want him have floated through his mind -- for food, as a lover -- but still, he is too numb with soul-chilling cold and exhaustion for the reasons to goad him into action, the emotions attached to them too distant for him to catch hold of.

He is pulled from his thoughts as the creature finally slows to a halt, deep within the rocks of the formation. The walls glow softly, some sort of organic growth providing dim lighting. His captor has not yet released its grip on his ankle, and keeps its hand firm as it riffles through a net attached to the wall with the other. Snapping its teeth in frustration, it looks around the chamber, and then trills a series of clicks and whistles.

Across the chamber a curtain of thin kelp parts and another creature, similarly built but with slightly different colouring, swims through, holding a dark green mass in its webbed hands. It passes the mass over to the first, and then floats nearby as James' captor unravels the bundle a little to release a strand of seaweed. His captor uses a sharp tooth to slice the meaty part of its thumb and then presses the bloody cut against the strand.

As the blood touches it, the colour changes, no longer dark green but taking on a fluorescing shade of yellow. The first holds the strand out to the second, who repeats the process, pressing a bloodied hand against the seaweed. The shade of yellow burns even more vibrantly as the blood is absorbed, almost glowing incandescently.

The floating creature nods decidedly and then, before he can make any kind of move, James finds that blood-infused seaweed wrapped around his neck.

For a moment he feels nothing. Then, a burning itch around his neck, as though his throat is wreathed in nettles. He counts three heartbeats as the itch intensifies…

Suddenly, he thrashes, agony shooting through him, burning pain unlike anything he has ever felt, turning his blood to liquid fire in his veins. His back arches, a silent scream ripped from his water-filled lungs. As he twists and writhes, the agony intensifies in his head, his ribs, his hands, his feet, his skin, pulling all his focus inward. How long it lasts, he cannot say.

As suddenly as it started, the pain is gone, leaving him tingling with aftershocks and trembling in every limb. He notes, belatedly, that he is no longer fettered by an iron grip on his ankle, but the realisation feels... distant... unimportant... as useless as the fact that water is wet.

He hangs in the water, limp, eyes half-closed, and doesn't react at all as rough-textured hands touch him, running along his arms and legs, chest and back. Some tiny part of him registers that he is now naked, the touches having removed the forgotten swim trunks from his hips. The rest of him is indifferent.

A larger part of him is pulled forward, becomes alert, as he hears a whistling shrill of sound and his transformed brain comprehends it, makes sense of it, even as the rest of him remains numb. He lifts his head and looks towards the source of the sound. She is terrifying in her deadly beauty, and yet he yearns to please her.

He does not know why.

"Beloved, take the new drone and set it beside the other. They will learn their place together."

The second creature, forgotten during his agony, the memory of which is already swirling away like smoke -- what is smoke, he wonders absently -- clicks her sharp teeth together, trills an affirmative, and turns away.

She is just as terrifying, and beautiful. He aches for her approval.

He does not know why.

He kicks his legs to propel himself after her when she taps her nails together in a staccato rhythm to catch his attention. His movements are clumsy compared to her sleek passage through the water, but he manages well enough, following her through the kelp curtain and into another chamber.

There is another humanoid creature here with long, slender limbs gleaming in the light from the phosphorescent algae adorning the walls. As he follows the urging of his second mistress, his gaze glances over the form, noting the mass of dark strands drifting around his head and the off-coloured lump above his left eye. Lean legs end in feet with webbed toes, and similar webbing links the creature’s dexterous fingers; gills flare and pulse between his ribs. Hazel eyes stare back at him with disinterest equal to his own.

The mistress trills again, and the pair of nameless creatures look away from each other and focus their attention on her as she begins to detail their tasks, pointing out the tools they will need to tend to their mistresses' garden, prepare their mistresses' food; the plethora of mundane tasks that will occupy the rest of their days. 

Knowing that the transformation saps energy, she then directs them to the curved shallow basin of rock where they will sleep and bids them rest. They curl up together, their rough skin scraping the rock and each other as they settle. Their eyes close, and they fall into dreamless sleep.

~~~ OOQ ~~~

Precisely eight days after James and Q departed MI6, when both Q and James have failed to make their agreed upon seventh day check-in, Eve initiates a missing operative investigation.

R locates and sets alerts on the return tickets James purchased -- the ferries from Lanzarote to Las Palmas and then to Huelva, the trains to Córdoba, Valencia, Irún, Paris, London. In the 12 days, 1 hour, and 4 minutes since the last sighting of James and Q setting out from Costa Teguise's little harbour, not one gets used.

Their boat is spotted and reported in by a local fisherman 13 days, 9 hours, and 37 minutes after the last known contact with the couple. It is found washed up on the coast several miles north of Costa Teguise. No sign of either man is found with the boat or in the vicinity of its beaching.

A fortnight to the day after their scheduled return to MI6, James and Q are declared killed in the line of duty. No trace of them has been found. None of Double O Seven's safe houses or cover identities have been touched, no whispers have been heard, no tremors on the lines to send messages to the spider sitting in the middle of the web. No trace whatsoever.

Four months and two days after the declaration is made, Mallory formally appoints R as Quartermaster in spite of her continued protests. Silent tears drip down her cheeks, and no one smiles on what should have been a festive occasion.

Life goes on above the waves. The modern world waits for no man, mourns them even less, and evil never sleeps.

~~~ OOQ ~~~

Beneath the waves, two silent, pale forms labour in the depths, every atom of their being bound to their mistresses through ties of blood. The pair is always together, beside each other every minute of every day. 

But...

No longer do they know that they used to care more about each other than anything in the world... 

No longer does it matter to them that they used to be lovers, best friends, partners... 

No longer are they aware that they used to be MI6's 007 and Quartermaster…

No longer do they care that they used to be human.... 

No longer does it mean anything to them that, in a previous existence, they were James Bond and Q.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Kudos are love but comments are chocolate ice cream on a hot summer day! <3 Constructive criticism is welcome! However, flames will be used to make fried ice cream!


	2. Artwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madeleine Swann and Vesper Lynd as shark-based merfolk

 

Madeleine Swann and Vesper Lynd as shark-based merfolk

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Kudos are love but comments are chocolate ice cream on a hot summer day! <3


End file.
